Comment mon coeur chante…
by Miskit
Summary: The Opera Populaire, tattered and in ruins, has been rebuilt. Old and new characters take the stage, the ‘Angel’ is watching, and a new owner is tested. Will history repeat itself, or is stubborn pride and curiosity enough to hold things together? Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera in any way, shape or form. This beautiful tale belongs to an old dead guy... as most classics do these days. Pity. BUT... I do own the main character of this story. Yup. He's mine and I'm pretty proud of that little tidbit.

:**WARNING**: This story will contain a homosexual relationship as well as two or three heterosexual ones... at least one of those being one sided. Anyway, the point is - if you don't like/agree with the idea of two men loving each other in an emotion as well as physical sense, then do us all a favor and get the 'hey diddle diddle' out of here. Thankies.

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Chapter One

"_Our greatest glory is not in never falling,_

_but in rising every time we fall."_

"Daae?"

"Yes."

"Christine Daae?"

"No, no, no! Andrew Daae..."

"No relation, of course...?"

"Oh but yes, much relation."

"...cousins?"

"Siblings! Brother and sister."

"Brother...?"

"Brother!"

"But... I thought Christine was an only child." The hushed voices traveling ear to ear amongst the performers on stage continued even through rehearsal.

"Appearently not..."

"Wait... was not Andrew the name of the man who - ?"

"Oh it was!"

"It was?"

"Yes!"

"What? Who is he?"

"Silly twit! He's the youngest child and only son of Monsieur Gustave Daae, the Swedish violinist; brother in law to the Vicomte de Chagny, and little brother of Christine!" A young ballerina exclaimed in the same hushed voice as the other's around her, the group huddled in a small circle towards the back of the stage. "He was in charge of the Opera's reconstruction..."

"Oh?"

"Yes!"

"He's very wealthy..."

"And handsome, I've heard..."

"A brilliant vocalist as well."

The girls giggled, their fantasies of the man they spoke of twinkling in their eyes. The sound, soft and giddy, though hardly hushed, caught the attention of the Opera's ballet mistress and she turned to see her pupils with a slight frown. Madame Giry sighed heavily, heels tapping against the hard wood of the stage along with her cane as she strode over to the giggling ballerinas with a stern look to her attractive face.

The long dark haired woman chided the young girls, shooing them with a pointed look and arched brow. She shook her head, sighing once more as they scattered away to their places, giggling all over again.

"Silly girls..." The madame gave a vague smile, watching as her pupils engaged into the activities they had each been specifically set to do. She stood there, still for some time, just watching... things had changed so much.

She had been there, on the very same stage not five years ago when the accident had occurred. The fire had been terrible, costing the life of at least one, destroying the beautiful Opera Populaire. But in a matter of five short years it had been restored to nearly as perfect as it had been before - one could argue nearly better. It had been thanks to the young Monsieur Daae, who had inherited his vast fortune from his late, but very famous father - the young man that was now the Opera's new owner.

Madame Giry smiled once more - Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre, the previous owners, had made their decision to sell the Opera House the very after the chandelier accident and fire. Seems the Opera and her ghost had finally grown to be too much for the older men. Not long after the Opera had gone onto the market, unlikely to all to ever find a new owner after all that had happened within her, she had been snatched up by one Andrew Daae. The young man had gone straight into restoring the shattered and scorched building, putting time and a large sum of money into the project, coming out as Madame Giry saw it, on top...

The young owner had hired her instantly once more, along with the Opera's original chief repetitor, Monsieur Reyer. She had been a bit surprised at the young man's eagerness to have them back... all she'd had to say was her name and that she had been the ballet mistress before.

She walked off the stage, slowly traveling one of the newly finished halls of the healing Opera House. Her lips could not help but curl into a smile that had resembled that of the smiles her pupils had worn not moments earlier. They, though young and rather airheaded, had been correct on more then one account of the new owner. Andrew Daae was, indeed, a handsome man and very wealthy... whether or not he could sing still as she had once known his voice to ring, she did not yet know. She would have to let _him_ be the judge of that.

"What will you do this time?" The madame spoke out loud softly, wondering to herself and yet knowing that despite her solitude in the hall that her words were heard. "Shall the past repeat itself once more? Or will this time the manager please you?"

She arched a brow, eyes sliding across the shadows slowly, though they did not seem to find what they sought. She smiled.

"I guess we will simply have to await his arrival and see, non?" She walked away, retreating back to her work amongst her giggling ballerinas - leaving the listening shadows to their own once more.

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"Andrew..."

"Shh! Enough, I've already told you. I've made up my mind."

"I don't approve of this, Andrew. This is not a -"

"Oh Christine, listen to yourself." He cast his fretful sister a smile as the carriage came rolling to a stop. He leaned forward towards his Countess sister, tapping her nose with the end of his finger. "You're worrying over things that don't even matter."

"Andrew he's real." The dark haired woman exclaimed softly, dark eyes searching her brother's face.

"I never said he wasn't." The young man chuckled, arching a brow. "But I do recall your saying that he stayed while you and Raoul left. The building was in ruins when I bought it - no man left inside would have survived that fire let alone the foundation caving in... If this phantom of your's wasn't burned to death in the fire then he was most certainly crushed."

"Andrew..."

The young man shushed his sister again, placing a gloved finger over her lips with a chuckle. "You're being silly, Christine. Nothing is going to happen to me - I promise." He gave her another smile, " Now... Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer are waiting for me, as well as everyone else and you have made me late to meet them. Go home to your husband and daughter, Christine, and stop worrying about me... There isn't any ghost left to haunt me or you or anyone else. Ok?"

"Such ignorance is what caused the entire mess with him last time." The Countess said rather accusingly.

"Really? I was under the impression it was a certain chorus girl's voice and an insane man's love that caused the mess..." Andrew arched a brow and Christine fell silent. "As well as a bitter rivalry between this man and the vicomte for the returned affections of that little chorus girl."

Christine made a face at the dark eyed man, sighing heavily, "...You taunt me."

"Of course not," Andrew chuckled again as the door of the carriage was opened for him. "I only want the best for my beautiful sister, and worrying is not going to help you at all."

"And I only want my little brother to live a long and safe life..." Christine called after the other, keeping the door open with a hand, her brow furrowed delicately. "Deliberately seeking out a man that cares fo nothing but music and himself, who kills without thought, is not that life I want you to have. He will hurt you, Andrew."

"How can I be harmed when there is no such man there to harm me?" Andrew cocked his head, arms crossing over his chest as he grinned at his sister. Behind him stood the now once more proud Opera Populaire in all its profound glory.

"He will recognize my face in your's, Andrew."

"You have a lovely face..."

"Andrew." Now Christine frowned, dark eyes growing cold with seriousness. "He wont be pleased to find someone so close to me taunting him."

Andrew sighed in almost a mocking manner, clearly humored by his sister as he rolled his dark eyes. "Christine, I am managing an Opera House, not taunting masked phantoms."

"He wont be pleased, Andrew."

"It's not my job to please him."

"He will demand it."

"And I will refuse him." The young man bit back softly, brow arching and tense with authority. "Even if such a man existed still - survived - I would not grovel at his feet and sing him lullabies as Madame Giry and Monsieur Lefevre did, and I will not taunt him as Monsieurs Andre and Firmin did."

"Then what will you do, Andrew? He will kill you..."

"He will not kill me, Christine." Andrew smiled at his sister, a smile that spoke of a brother's love and affection for a sister. A kind smile. "And I will deal with him as I am prompt to do so, other wise he will be ignored and rightly so."

"Andrew, he wont let you ignore him."

"Go home, Christine."

"Andrew...!"

Andrew smartly shut the carriage door, cutting off whatever his sister had planned on saying and bringing an end to the conversation. He nodded to the horseman who tipped his hat for the younger Daae and snapped his reins smartly to drive the horses forward once more. Andrew watched the carriage go, imagining how angry Christine would be with him next time they met for his unceremonious method of bringing closure to their time together.

"Ah, Christine..." The young man shook his head as the carriage rounded a corner and disappeared back the way it had come, carrying the worrying madame home. He chuckled, striding up the Opera House stairs with purpose. The sound of rehearsal immediately reached his ears and he smiled pleasantly, coming around and in through the back of the stage where he stood with a pleased look on his face as the ballerinas and other dancers pranced about the stage while the chorus sang and actors spun around in costumes. His presence did not go unnoticed and once again Madame Giry had to shoo her giggling pupils back into their places, her emerald eyes seeing the cause of the commotion and recognizing the face instantly to be that of the youngest Daae.

"Monsieur Daae..."

Andrew nodded, bowing his head slightly in respect to the ballet mistress. He grinned, stepping forward as Madame Giry called the Opera to attention as the new owner approached. Many marveled at the likeness this man held of the famed Christine Daae - his dark eyes shining and chocolate brown hair falling to his shoulders and pulled back with a sliver clasp at the nape of his neck. His skin was pale and smooth - a handsome man indeed.

"Come, come, shh!" Madame Giry hushed the surrounding group, earning herself a pout from the once more returning Signora La Carlotta Giudicelli - who had eagerly returned to the reconstructed Opera now that Christine was married off and was no longer an option at challenging her position of leading soprano. Much to the dismay of the other actors and dancers who had already experienced her drama in the short time the Opera House had been reopened.

The diva made a face, glaring in her usual manner at having been interrupted; though when her eyes landed on the handsome face of the new manger her demeanor changed and she held herself in a flirtatious manner with a hand held up above her head and the other on her hip.

"Everyone... everyone, come, come..." Madame Giry tried once more, succeeding to draw everyone's attention to the handsome young man. She held out a hand toward Andrew in introduction, ignoring her own feelings at seeing the young man after seventeen long years spent with his handsome face absent from her thoughts. "I am sure you have all heard of Monsieur Daae and his efforts to restore the Opera Populaire after the accident five years ago..."

Instant chattering broke out, each man and woman, it seemed, with their own story to tell of this accident the madame spoke of. The ballet mistress held up a hand, silencing them all once more.

"As you can see, he was done a wonderful job." She gestured around them and then let her hand drop from its place palm out towards the young man. "And as such he is here with us today and everyday as the new owner and patron of the Opera Populaire."

The group clapped, ballerinas and dancers giggling once more and whispering in hushed voices to each other as their eyes took in the sight of their new wealthy manager. Madame Giry introducing Carlotta as the Opera's leading soprano - despite the passing of her beloved Ubaldo Piangi in the accident that seemed to haunt the Opera House still, the Spanish diva was back and obnoxious as ever...

"Daae?" Carlotta's voice rang out loudly as Andrew opened his mouth to speak, her heavily painted face twisting in furious anger and jealousy. Madame Giry turned from the scene, going to busy herself elsewhere as the drama ensued once more.

Andrew's mouth remained a bit a gap as he turned in a deliberately slow movement to the now enraged diva. "Yes, signora?"

"Daae? Daae? Christine Daae!" The diva's hands shot out in rage, the woman practically snarling as she jutted her finger out at the young man angrily.

"Christine Daae. Yes? What of my sister?"

"Daae!" The woman erupted into a fit of Spanish insults and angry words. Clearly a cord as been struck within the diva at the sound of this name.

"Signora, please!" Monsieur Reyer waved a hand at the near hysterical woman shouting at her followers and ladies in waiting. "Calm, diva! You must calm yourself."

"HA!" The diva threw her hands up once more, still muttering in her foreign tongue.

Andrew, seeming more amused then anything by this eruption from the woman who had formerly been trying to flirt her way into his good fortune, chuckled calmly as she turned from him. Apparently his attentions were no longer wanted by her.

"You find it funny? You laugh?" Carlotta rounded on the young owner again, striding over to him and sticking a menacing finger in his face. "HA HA! Bring that little toad here and I will leave! Bye-bye!"

"Little...?" Andrew frowned, realization flashing in his dark eyes seconds later as he understood the insult had been directed to his sister. He lowered his head, curtly shaking it a few times. "Oh, signora...please. My sister is married and busy with her own family and duties as Countess. She hasn't the time to come out here and sing in the Opera, though I am sure she would love to still do so." He arched a brow at her, taking her by the arm and spinning her around towards the exit and giving her a firm push towards it. "But if you still feel threatened by the presence of a Daae, then please, do leave."

Carlotta looked shocked, mouth hanging open and eyes sharp as dangers as she faced Andrew once more - the diva indignant and furious from the push she had received that urged her to leave.

"Surprised?" Andrew's brows arched up over his dark eyes, a mocking smirk on his lips. "I haven't the time myself to pamper a spoiled, inapt diva with far too much air in her lungs. Either play your role and play it properly or leave. I am running an Opera House, not a pity party."

Carlotta sputtered stupidly, looking to this new comer with shock. She had never been spoken to before in such a manner, save but by one dark creature years ago, and looked to her followers for support that the silent group didn't have - they too were shocked and could do nothing but shrug and stare between the two. The Spanish diva gaped a moment longer, pouting and huffing as she lifted her head in half hearted pride and strode back to her place before Monsieur Reyer to carry on with her rehearsal.

The actors and dancing girls all regarded the handsome manager with equal surprise, but less mortified shock then the pampered diva. Their eyes seemed to praise him, their urgent whispers and chattering voicing words of encouragement and liking for the young man. And Madame Giry, smirking softly at finding that Andrew still had as much bite in his tongue now as he had had as a child, looked up to the box on the grand tier next to the stage-box that rested on the left of the stage - box five. Nothing appeared to be there, but the madame's eyes remained fixated to the spot a moment longer, looking to the shadows there as though to say, 'Well...?'.

Andrew, seeming satisfied enough with how he had handled the little outburst from the woman, sighed heavily, straightening his jacket calmly. He'd heard his fill of stories about the Spanish diva's outbursts both from Christine and Raoul and had been prepared to handle her accordingly and with an iron fist resolve upon his arrival. She would not be running amuck and controlling every movement made in his theater - no, he had paid for the reconstruction and the property. Therefor it would be he that ran things around the Opera, not Signora La Carlotta Giudicelli or anyone of the like.

"Monsieur..."

Andrew looked to the side, finding a lovely blond dancer standing at his side. He smiled at her, using a finger to lift her chin as she respectfully bowed her head to him, and chuckled softly. "Meg Giry... Belle, look at you."

Meg smiled, relief flooding her face. "So you remember me..."

"How could I forget you? The summers I spent with you and Christine, reading stories and sneaking into your mother's letter box." He 'tsked' at the blond, smiling as she too graced him with a soft laugh at the memories. "You were such a naughty influence. But look at you now..." He took each of her slim hands, holding them out so that he could appreciate her full beauty. He shook his head, smiling, and sighing gently as he looked to her face again. "You've grown so beautifully, Belle."

Meg's smile twisted shyly, the lovely blonde tipping her face away in an adorably modest fashion as Andrew complimented her and called her by the pet name he had given her so many years ago. "Flatterer..."

"And yet you blush." Andrew smiled, releasing her hands to allow her to lift them to cover her face with them. He chuckled, the playfulness of their voices and laughter not going unnoticed by others around them - Madame Giry's lips pressed into a thin line as she looked to her daughter and the young manager, clearly displeased with something.

Andrew noticed the tension in her face and arched his brows to Meg, "I see your dear mother still harbors quite a dislike of me..."

"Oh..." Meg looked over to her mother, disregarding the look and taking Andrew by the hand. "Never mind her, come. I will show you to your rooms..."

Andrew let the blonde lead him away by the hand, hearing some of the other dancers giggle giddily as they left together and shaking his head at the sound.

Oh he remembered Meg - little Giry - his Belle. They, meaning she, Christine and himself had played together through the summers once Christine had been brought to the Opera to train as a ballerina and dancer under Madame Giry. Though his stay there had only lasted three summers; the majority of his time there was spent elsewhere as he could not stay with his sister and friend while they trained, and had been sent away from the Opera House only two years after his father's passing. After all, Madame Giry had never held much love for him - taking in Christine as a sort of second daughter, but sending him away to a boy's Educational Academy at the age of eight in hopes of driving him away from the Opera. He could only imagine the surprise the older woman had endured when she came to find he had bought the ruined Opera and had then agreed to rehire her to her previous position once the building had been restored.

He, though, hadn't been surprised to find that the ballet mistress had been denying his total existence in his absence by saying that Christine was an only child. He supposed, though, that in a way it was a manner of splitting a man's inheritance between his children - Christine kept the name and fame that came with it, and he had inherited their father's fortune.

"Here..." Meg led him down a hall lined with doors and around a corner to another hall with a single door at the end. She stopped before the door, using the key already hanging there from the door to unlock it for the young manager. "Your rooms, Monsieur."

"Meg, please... Andrew. For you I am simply Andrew." The dark haired youth smiled, holding up a hand to the blonde. "You make me sound like an old man..."

Meg smiled, nodding pleasantly. "So..." She gave a sigh, stepping towards her old friend as the young man entered the room and looked around.

Andrew chuckled, glancing over his shoulder as the lovely dancer standing in his room with her long blond hair tied and knotted at the back of her head and slim body clad in white tights and a knee length lace skirt. A rose colored corset hugged her already tiny waist and a white sash hung around her middle, shimmering star like tassels hanging from the ends of the pure silk.

"So indeed..." He smiled and her eyes lit up just as he recalled them doing in their childhood.

"Oh, Andrew, tell me of Christine." She asked in a begging voice, though nothing like the bothersome whine of Carlotta. Meg sat on the edge of the plush bed against the wall, looking to the dark haired man eagerly. "How is she? You said she was married off, is it true? To whom? Raoul? You spoke of a family... oh, tell me!"

"Shh, shh!" Andrew laughed again, coming to sit beside the blond who immediately took hold of his hand and urged him on despite his hushing. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you, you little harpy..."

She watched, brown eyes imploring him to tell her all he knew. She had obviously missed her friend, having been separated from her for five long years.

"She is well. Married off, yes, to the Vicomte de Chagny himself - little lady's a Countess now, you know. And Raoul treats her like a queen..." He told Meg as the girl tugged at his fingers for more, "Oh! And a mother now too. She and Raoul have a daughter, Margaretta - beautiful little girl with brown hair and blue eyes. She'll be three this summer."

Meg sighed heavily, eyes drifting up and to the side as she pictured the child and Christine's life. "Oh I'm so happy for her, but how I envy her too."

"Envy? Belle? Oh no, never..." Andrew teased, giving her a knowing look. Meg had always been a mischievous little viper of a girl when they had been younger, always striving to be like Christine or some other girl in the chorus.

"Shh!" The blond shushed her friend, scowling at him lightly, though they both knew the expression was a playful one.

"What do you envy, Belle?"

Meg was silent for a moment, thinking it appeared. As she gathered her thoughts she looked away, clearly deciding she'd rather not share.

"Belle."

"She's married and living the life every girl dreams. Treated like a queen and loved... a daughter too." Meg sighed, giving in to the insistent tone of the other. "I dream of such things."

"And your dreams will come true, Belle."

"Ha! Look at me..." She held her arms out to gesture to herself, making a face. "I'm practically an old maid."

Andrew laughed at her, shaking his head and guiding her arms back down to her side and hands to her lap. "You're beautiful, Belle."

"Andrew..."

"Are you calling me a liar then?" He arched a brow, pleased to see a slight smile grace the blonde's lips once more. He smiled too, "Beautiful Belle. You're prince will come for you."

"Prince..."

"You deserve no less."

"And I take it you're looking for a princess?"

Andrew smiled, shaking his head. "No, I prefer old maids." He teased and she swatted at him as she stood, only encouraging his chuckle.

"Very well, tease me all you like." She smiled, "But I do need to return to the stage. Mother will be wondering where I am... and, well, she wouldn't be pleased to find me here."

"Alone with the enemy?"

"Oh stop it."

Andrew smiled again, shooing her with a hand as he stood and prepared to make himself comfortable. "Go on then, Belle. We'll talk more later."

She nodded and headed out, stopping only once as she remembered something. "Oh! Supper is served at 7 and the kitchen closes at 8."

He nodded and listened as the door closed and the blond scurried off to rehearse with the other dancers. Andrew shook his head, sighing as he loosened his neck tie and removed his jacket. At least Meg would be around to keep him company... how lovely little Belle grown to be.

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Ok, I've gone through and proof read this chapter about five times now and made changes all throughout it - hopefully I caught all the typos I might have made, but I know that mistakes can squeeze through even after all attempts at finding them have been made. Therefore, I apologize if any errors were found while reading. I did my best and that's all I could do.

Hope you enjoyed it, and I will update again as soon as possible. 3 REVIEW!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera in any way, shape or form. This beautiful tale belongs to an old dead guy... as most classics do these days. Pity. BUT... I do own the main character of this story. Yup. He's mine and I'm pretty proud of that little tidbit.

:**WARNING**: This story will contain a homosexual relationship as well as two or three heterosexual ones... at least one of those being one sided. Anyway, the point is - if you don't like/agree with the idea of two men loving each other in an emotion as well as physical sense, then do us all a favor and get the 'hey diddle diddle' out of here. Thankies.

_Special Thanks To_:

Googleeyes - I'm glad you approve! And I promise, Erik will have his fair share in the story, BELIEVE me... though he may not be seen physically, the Opera House is never without his presence. The title of the story is French and translates to : How my heart sings...

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Chapter Two

"_Heaven never helps the man_

_who will not act."_

Andrew couldn't help but wince - Carlotta was hitting notes so high and so unbelievably off that he was afraid all the crystal in the building would shatter. It was horrible and his head was pounding. Suddenly, all the stories Christine and Raoul had told him of the phantom and his seemingly unending quest to cast Christine in all of the lead roles made so much sense to him; any sane person that valued their ability to hear would have done that. Any artist listening would be driven to suicide in his opinion...

"Oh good God in Heaven..." He muttered softly to himself, covering his mouth with his hand as he sat comfortably in a chair designed for the higher classes of audiences that would come to watch their performances.

"She does not please you?"

Andrew turned in his seat to find Madame Giry standing behind him, his dark eyes looking straight up into the woman's face. He sighed heavily, hand passing down his face as he gave a moment's thought to the question. "...how do I put this?"

"Simply, if you please, Monsieur."

"Alright. Simply put... no." Andrew looked to the madame once again, shaking his head as Carlotta carried on in the background of their conversation. "No she does not. Not at all. My God why is she even on the stage?"

The madame seemed to chuckle, though the expression came with no sound. "She is our diva."

"She can't sing."

"Non?" The ballet mistress arched a brow. A slow smile crossed her lips as she turned her eyes back to the soprano on the stage. "I suppose I should not be surprised. You never were one to pretend or put on an act to please others."

Andrew gave her a grin, "If it holds no pleasure for myself as well, then why put myself through the struggle? For vain pleasure? Never, madame, you know better..."

"Oui." She nodded, chest heaving just so with a lite sigh, "So? What would you have us do, Monsieur Daae?"

"Hmm?"

"You are the manager, who sings in your productions is entirely up to you." The woman studied his handsome face patiently, awaiting his decision.

"Really? Well, now..." Andrew straightened up in his seat, looking about the dancers and other actors. "What of Belle? Can she sing?"

"Meg's voice... is too rich for the role. Her voice too deep." Madame Giry answer truthfully. "She is already in the role her voice calls for."

Andrew sighed, "Well... something has to be done. Carlotta is far from her prime and does not need to be cast in the roles she is. She may be a diva, but her voice is no good here."

Madame Giry nodded, wrapped in her thoughts for moment as Andrew looked back to the note slashing diva. She sighed again, speaking slowly, "Do you still sing, Monsieur?"

Andrew chuckled, "Oh Madame, if Meg's voice is too deep then mine would never do."

"Yes, but that was not what I asked. I asked whether or not you still sing, not if you could take the role."

The young man considered the woman, taking in the complete sight of her. He couldn't find a reason why she would ask such a thing of him... "Well, yes. I suppose..."

"Do you or don't you, Monsieur. It was a simple question that called for a simple answer..."

"Yes."

Madame Giry nodded, seeming to be satisfied. Her eyes returned to Carlotta, moving on rather swiftly. "So, what would you have me do, Monsieur?"

Andrew frowned, but said nothing of the woman's odd behavior and question. "I... I'm not sure." His face grew serious again and he gestured to the Spanish diva, "But I can't let her go on like that. She's playing Juliet, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"Juliet is delicate and fair with a voice that reflects that gentle nature." Andrew shook his head, brows arching as he watched Carlotta, "I close my eyes to envision a love struck Capulet and it is not Carlotta that I see." The young manager closed his eyes, doing just as he had spoke of himself doing and made a face when he opened his eyes once more. "God, she is nothing like Juliet at all. It's as though we're trying to pass a troll off for a rose."

Madame Giry smiled in amusement, "You are very passionate about this."

"No," Andrew grinned, "I'm just very honest."

"Sinfully so."

Andrew chuckled, nodding as he was forced to agree with the ballet mistress. There was no denying such a thing.

A shrill shriek from some of the dancers and a loud, bellowing cry of shock erupted from Carlotta's lungs as the cloth backdrop crashed to the stage, taking Carlotta down with it, pinning her to the floor and silencing her singing. She cried out, screaming in rage and furious tears fell as she wailed. Andrew hurried along with Madame Giry to the stage as Reyer and a number of others fussed with freeing the diva. Andrew's eyes, ignoring the soprano, shot straight up to the overhangs and knobs overhead that controlled the backdrops and other devices that they required coming down to the stage from above.

"What on earth...?" Andrew's eyes narrowed, a shape catching his gaze in the shadows. He stepped forward as though to go after the odd shift of shadow and light, as though it were a person in need of catching, but was caught himself by the arm by Meg who's eyes had followed his.

"It's him. It's the Opera Ghost." She told him in a hushed tone, "He is with us. Watching and listening always..."

Andrew frowned at the blonde, "Opera Ghost...? Oh Belle, don't tell me you think he's still here."

"Still?" Madame Giry questioned, brow arched at Andrew. "So you believe he was here once, but no longer?"

"The fire obviously killed him, Madame, if he was ever truly here at all."

Meg tried to silence the young man, shaking her head and watching him with brown eyes that implored him not to say such things.

"I assure you, Monsieur Daae, he is very much alive and here." the madame began, opening her mouth to continue but was interrupted by Carlotta's shrieks.

"AGAIN!" The diva shrieked, flinging her arms around wildly as she pulled from the gasp of Monsieur Reyer and the other's fussing over her. "No more! These things happen too much!" She began sobbing again, swatting at one of her ladies in waiting as they attempted to soothe her and offer a handkerchief to mope up her crocodile tears.

"Again? This has happened before?" Andrew directed his question to Meg who nodded with a meek smile.

"Yes. The backdrop has fallen on her a total of four times throughout the years she has been here..." The blonde smiled, trying to hide the amusement in her voice and face from the blubbering diva.

"That is IT!" Carlotta shrieked, stomping away along with her small group of followers without another look to Andrew, crying out and shrieking about how she was leaving and not coming back - much to the dismay of Monsieur Reyer, but the immense amusement of Andrew.

"Well... seems our issue with Carlotta has been resolved." The dark eyed youth chuckled, "She wont be in the production at all."

"But... then who will be Juliet?" Meg asked, a worried look much like Reyer's crossing her face and darkening her eyes. "Carlotta has no understudy and noone else here can fill her place."

"Nonsense." Andrew assured, "We'll find somebody."

"But who?"

"Meg... sing for us." Andrew instructed despite Madame Giry's earlier explanation of why the blonde was not fit for the role.

Meg stared at her old friend for a long moment before finally shaking her head and stepping back from him. "No. No, no, no, I can't."

"I believe you can..." Andrew smiled, ushering her on to sing. "Go on, Belle. Any of Juliet's songs, just a few lines or so."

"No. Andrew, I can't. Juliet's role is soprano, my voice is too deep."

Andrew sighed heavily, scratching the back of his head as he thought, curiosity concerning the phantom or any strange swirl of shadow he had seen earlier leaving his mind as he paced slowly on the stage before the actors and dancers.

"Monsieur, we need Carlotta..." A young chorus girl urged him, stepping up to stand beside Meg.

"No." He held his hand up, barely giving the girl a glance as he shook his finger above his head in refusal. His hands dropped to rest on his hips as he paced, thinking still. "...Carlotta will not sing. My ears can't take it."

"Neither can the phantom's..." Meg commented softly, eyes lifting back up to box five in the audience.

"Appearently not." Andrew snorted softly, much to Madame Giry's obvious displeasure.

"I... I could sing it."

All eyes turned onto a young red haired girl, her green eyes nervous and shining innocently. She was a dancer, dressed in the same lace skirt and rose corset as Meg, even younger then the blonde, it appeared. She was small, and pretty and Andrew found himself looking to Madame Giry for answers rather then the girl. The woman gave a slight shrug, nothing truly notable from the woman that spoke of the young girl's talents.

"Alright. Very well..." Andrew sighed, rubbing his forehead with the pads of his fingers. "Dear... um..."

"Michelle Versielle..."

"Yes. Very well, Michelle." Andrew nodded, offering the nervous girl a patient smile, "Go on then... sing a bit with Monsieur Reyer."

The girl nodded, turning to the gray haired man who looked ready to pass out as he fretted. Andrew, noticing Meg standing silent and staring up into the audience, followed the blonde's gaze to the box over the stage-box. Box five. He frowned... what was so interesting about that box? Madame Giry always seemed to be staring off towards it and now so was Meg.

There was nothing there.

"You know, Monsieur..." Madame Giry stepped towards the frowning man, who's brow was furrowed and eyes searched an 'empty' box. "The Opera House is still without a lead tenor... that could prove a very troublesome problem if you are still intending to show Romeo and Juliet, without a Romeo. Perhaps now would the time to consider filling the place...?" She arched a brow at the young manager, turning her attention back to Michelle who was actually proving herself to be quite the talented young soprano - though she didn't even graze against the same level Christine had been.

Andrew tore his eyes from the box, looking to the ballet mistress with raised brows of his own. He stood with a hand on his hip, looking to her curiously. "Oh really? And what, exactly, would you have me do, Madame Giry?"

She sighed, looking to him slowly. She nodded towards the box the young man had been trying to figure out the secret of not a moment before. "The Opera Ghost..." She pulled a small white envelope out from where she had slipped it through a sash she wore tired around her middle, just as her pupils wore around their own. "He welcomes you, though reluctantly, as you can imagine, to his Opera House... and demands that you leave box five empty for his use." She gestured to the box over the stage-box. "And wishes to inform you that he requires a salary of at least 20,000 francs a month."

Andrew laughed, chuckled, the sound deeper and lifting slowly with less amusement behind it then his usual laughter, as Meg had noticed. He shook his head, all eyes on him as he tucked his hands behind his back and paced a few times, spinning on his heel to face Madame Giry with an empty grin.

So it begins...

"Well... will you kindly inform Monsieur Phantom that I will gladly keep box five empty for him." Andrew's expression remained as it was, much to Meg's apprehension. Madame Giry smiled, looking as though she had won some great victory - the smile fell though as Andrew held up a hand and continued. "BUT... also let him know that I will _not_ be paying him 20,000 francs a month or any salary of any kind at all."

Madame Giry sighed heavily, looking down to the envelope with a tense expression to her face.

"Ah, ah... but isn't that only fair?" Andrew pressed as he saw the expression, "I am allowing him the use of a rather pricey box, all to himself whenever he pleases, and I'm letting him do so without charging him." The curly haired young man pointed to the box in question, smile turning a little on the coy side as he spoke, "If he wants a salary then he should be working, like the rest here who are paid. No work, no pay."

Madame Giry looked the other over, sighing, though finding his point in his words and agreeing though she'd never say so. "Very well, Monsieur. But there is no use in my telling him; you've told him yourself now already."

"Oh?"

"The angel sees and knows. He hears everything." The madame explained, eyes traveling back to box five.

Andrew laughed out loud at this, bracing his hand against his forehead. "Now he is an angel? Funny...I was under the impression that he was a phantom or ghost of some kind. Perhaps an insane man believing himself greater then he truly is even?"

Madame Giry gave him that look of displeasure once more, though the woman held her tongue.

"Anything else? Does our dear Opera Ghost have any other demands for me?"

"Yes. Actually, he has one more." the ballet mistress said calmly, brows raised and tense as she looked down to the white envelope. She looked up to Andrew slowly, green eyes flashing as she smiled in a manner that Andrew found more eerie then comforting. "He wants to hear you sing."

"Does he?" Andrew asked in a high toned voice, looking up to box five then scanning the seats of the audience. His dark eyes flashed back to the box, watching the shadows for that swirl of light and dark he had seen above near the stagehand post when the backdrop fell. He saw nothing.

"Oui, Monsieur." the madame nodded, tucking the envelope away again and watching Andrew to see what he would do.

"Well... then I assume this means if I pass his little test of sorts, then he will also require me to sing lead tenor?"

"Very good, Monsieur. You are brighter then I, admittedly, would have thought."

Meg frowned at her mother, looking to Andrew as the young man chuckled.

"Of course..." He shook his head, looking out to the box once more. "Well, I must regrettably refuse that demand as well."

"Why is that, Monsieur?"

"If Monsieur Phantom wishes for me to sing, then I would think he should ask me himself." Andrew stood still, as did everyone else on the stage, waiting - perhaps for a sign or indication that a phantom did in fact haunt these halls and was listening. The dark eyed man sighed, shrugging and turning to Madame Giry when no movement or sound was made, "No? Well... then I wont be singing."

"He wishes only to hear your voice."

"Until he can ask me himself I wont sing for him." Andrew spoke with firm resolve, earning a scow from the ballet mistress.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"She would not dislike you so if you didn't provoke her temper."

Andrew chuckled, "Is that so?"

"You know it is, Andrew." Meg shook her head as she walked with the other to the dinner room, "My mother is a very kind, understanding woman until you threaten her."

"I did not threaten your mother. I never have." The young man said indignantly, giving the girl an offended look.

"No, not directly." The blonde sighed, leading the way into the room that was alive with joyful chatter and the warm scent of hot, fresh stew. "But you threatened what she cares for and so threatened her."

"..." Andrew regarded her oddly for a moment as she grabbed two bowls - one for herself and the other for him. "The phantom? Oh Belle..."

"You should respect him if nothing more, Andrew."

"Meg..."

"He's real, Andrew. I've seen his face." The blonde exclaimed quietly as she filled the young man's bowl and handed it to him. "I've heard him sing..."

"And was his song any good?"

"His song was broken. Lonely. It was the saddest thing I've ever heard..." She paused in pouring her own bowl of soup, thinking back with brows furrowed to the sound of the man singing and the heartbreaking plea he had made to Christine just before the chandelier had fallen and caused the fire.

"He murders people. Murderers tend to be alone, Belle."

"Andrew!" Meg hushed him, scowling at her friend. "He isn't so horrible as he has been made out to be. He is terrifying, yes, but he is no threat if you are not one to him."

"What threat is Carlotta to him?"

"She threatens his sanity with her voice." Meg smiled, laughing and forgetting her annoyance with the other instantly as she giggled softly in response to his coy grin.

"Well, on that note I couldn't agree with him more..."

"Then why provoke his anger, Andrew? Why?" She stressed the words, eyes imploring him to answer and answer properly. Her playfulness had evaporated somewhat, leaving her serious once more as they walked away from all the others with their meals in hand. "He doesn't ask for so much..."

"He did not asked, he demanded, that I pay him 20,000 francs a month." Andrew reasoned as the blonde lead them up a set of winding stairs. Stairs that led straight up to the roof of the Opera House. "AND that I give him full access to an entire box all for himself that is worth ticket wise of a sum twice that amount. It's outrageous!"

The wealthy young man was rather great full for the summer time weather that warmed the roof and lit it a blaze with the rays of the slowly setting sun overhead; if it had been winter, snow falling all around and coating the building with a layer of soft, frozen rain, Andrew was sure it would be near about miserable up there what with the constant breeze it always seemed to have. The two made their way to the edge of the building, each taking a seat on it and looking out over the bustling city as they ate their dinners.

"But what of his request to hear you sing?" She pressed, pointing her spoon menacingly at him. "That would not have cost you a single franc. Why refuse him that?"

"It's a matter of pride, Belle."

"Pride..." The blonde scoffed, scowling at her stew as she spooned through it distractedly, "... the things you've done in the name of pride..."

"As if you're one to talk." He scowled in return as she lifted her eyes to look at him, "Belle, you have always been a prideful spirit. You would sooner cut off your own nose to spite your face simply out of pride."

"Oh don't be foolish."

Andrew had to chuckle as he swallowed a bit of stew, the heat of the meal warming his stomach and throat pleasantly, "I'm not..." She scoffed again, looking out into the city in a manner that seemed to him that she was attempting to ignore him now. He shook his head, looking out in the direction she was, "I will not sing for him... because I am a prideful man and I know it. I don't want your mother coming to me with notes and instructions - if he truly wants to hear me sing he should come to me and ask himself, not through another."

"He has reasons for not revealing himself, Andrew."

"What reasons are those? His face?" Andrew shook his head again, "I've already heard all about it from Christine and Raoul. I'm not afraid a few gruesome sights."

"He doesn't trust you."

"Well then there's another common ground between us - I don't trust him either."

"Andrew, think about what happened the last time he revealed himself to others. He was hunted down and his home was destroyed..." The blonde pressed, having forgotten about her meal it seemed, "What reason should he have now to do it all over again? Why take that chance?"

Andrew thought a moment, thinking to himself it appeared. "Any sane person would know that taking such high risks would be ludicrous... but I believe he should take them all the same." The young owner gave a grin at the incredulous look Meg gave him. "Besides, after all the time and money I put into rebuilding this place, why on earth would Ido a thing that might result it its destruction once more?"

Meg stared at him a moment, seeing his point. She shrugged though, turning her attention back to her stew, "Still... I don't see why you can't just appease him a bit and sing for him."

"We've been through this, Belle." Andrew sighed, a bit frustrated by the topic, "I wont him to ask me himself."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I wont."

"You're acting like a child." She told him, frowning again.

"I'm being a child? He hides in the shadows and has a women make his demands through a letter." Andrew snapped, feathers a bit ruffled. "At least I voice my own words and stand by them." She sighed heavily, shaking her head slowly and he frowned at her. "And I gave him what he wanted. I indulged him, didn't I? I gave him his box."

"And denied him everything else."

"I gave him what he wanted within reason." He snapped, "If he wants a salary then he should work. If he wants me to sing, he should ask me himself. I'm not going to respond to childish games of note passing and checking 'yes' or 'no'."

"He wont reveal himself to you, Andrew." Meg told him, her voice a bit softer then it had been, "He did that once, for Christine, and look where that got him. Hated and alone."

"Very well then." Andrew nodded his head curtly, looking a bit cross but understanding. "If he wont come to me, then I shall just have to find him myself."

"That's ridiculous..."

"So is his blaming Christine for his solitude when he has only himself to blame." Andrew countered, appearently catching Meg by surprise with this accusation. "If he loved her, he should have told her. Instead he frightened her, killed people, and threatened those around her... what woman in her right mind would go willingly to the side of a man that had done nothing but reveal himself to be a monster? Put yourself in Christine's place, Meg... would you have gone to him?"

The blonde was left silent at this, considering a moment before lifting her eyes to Andrew's slowly. "...no. I would not have."

"And not I, nor would anyone else, blame you for it. So why should he blame Christine?" He arched a brow, "Why should anyone blame her?"

The two remained there, finishing their meals in silence as the sun slowly fell beyond the horizon. Once the sun had left them, the night growing dark and chilled despite the earlier summer warmth, they retired back to the sleepy Opera House, a new sense of understanding falling pleasantly between them as they went... but even in their solitude, neither could have noticed that they were not alone. Their words had not fallen on deaf ears.

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Ok, there's another chapter for you. I'll get my next one out as soon as I can get it typed and such, I promise. Also, once again forgive any mistakes and typos you might have found while reading, I'm doing my best to find them before posting. I swear.

Next chapter will have much more Erik in it. Yay Erik!

**REVIEW PLEASE**!!


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